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Introspective Female Authors - Blog Posts
I watched as Jacques' car pulled out of the garage and onto the road. I rested my elbow on the counter and my chin on my hand. With my mouth open and my tongue, pink and slimy, hanging out, saliva dribbled down my chin, seeping between my fingers. My eyes were squinted, red and dry. I hadn't slept well since we moved in, the howls of coyotes and mountain lions in the hills kept me awake at night and echoed in my head during the day. I wasn't used to living next to the forest.
I dried my mouth with the back of my hand and shook the shiny, wet saliva on my apron. I took a deep breath, stretched my arms toward the ceiling and got to work. I went upstairs, where the bedroom I shared with Jaques and his office was located. I entered the bedroom and made the bed, punched and shaped the cushions, scented the room with a sweet air freshener and turned around.
The office door was closed, rattling in the wind and banging on the frame arrhythmically. I knew I shouldn't open it, Jacques had warned me. His office was his personal space, I had to respect it. If I didn't strictly respect his privacy I offended him, and then he would yell at me.
Excerpt of my latest short story Possession. It will be on Substack next week.
I will always be a 1940s introspective female author wannabe.